


falling in and caught again

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Murder, Blood and Injury, Exiled Hux, Hows that for a tag?, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Non-consensual surgery, Omega Armitage Hux, Pregnant Armitage Hux, Secret pregnancy, attempted child abduction, kind of sort of - Freeform, kylo ren to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17685737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux flees the First Order after discovering he's pregnant with Kylo Ren's offspring, determined to raise them far away from the bloodshed consuming the rest of the galaxy.Unfortunately, a life of peace is still far beyond his reach.





	falling in and caught again

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going back and forth between liking this one and not liking it, honestly, and I'm not even sure how I feel about posting it? I don't feel particularly confident in the characterization or suspension of disbelief, but I also don't want to just leave it sitting in my computer. 
> 
> This gets very dark towards the end, at least I think so. Heed those tags!
> 
> Done for the Bad Things Bingo trope: "Strapped to an Operating Table."

Walking away from everything he’d built up for over three decades had been the hardest thing Hux had ever done.

He’s still not sure what exactly had stopped him from simply eradicating the problem, months ago when he’d first discovered it. When he’d sat on the couch in his quarters, palm resting on his stomach and ears tuning out the inapt congratulations of the medical droid. His usual careful planning replaced by an odd fuzz, like the feed of a breaking com-link.

Before the droid could report back to the medical bay or alter his file Hux had set upon it, rewriting its memory and erasing all evidence of the pregnancy. Once he’d sent it blissfully on its way he’d sat, alone, fingers digging into his middle, yet another weight laid across his small shoulders.

He considered ridding himself of them without another thought spared for the accident, result of a foolish tryst gone on for far too long. He would become a mockery otherwise, growing heavy and compromised with pregnancy. No doubt before long he’d be relegated to some awful position within the Order, broodmare to a litter of Force-wielding soldiers. Endlessly kept full and helpless by Snoke, _used_ by his crude storm of an apprentice to fuel the armies he had once helmed.

A truly _unacceptable_ outcome.

But his mind, ever-exploring each possible avenue, drummed up another scenario, one that he nearly discarded with a scoff for its foolish sentimentality—but as he softened his hand against his belly, letting his palm rest against the steadying rise and fall of his breath, it only grew, sprouting with his scant hope.

 _Just like an omega_ , the nasty voice in his head then said, _to consider give up rank and power for the sake of some pups_. The words of his father had never left him, embossed into his psyche like metal.

The words of _Brendol Hux_ , who’d died for his misjudgment, his arrogance. Who Hux had resolved never to prove right, even beyond the grave. 

Yet as he sat on his bed with his teeth set and his fingers splayed atop the soft mound of his belly he understood what it felt to have something _belong_ to him for the very first time.

Even Starkiller had been forged a weapon of the Order, of its resources and labor, and still it’d been stolen from him. His greatest achievement shattered

But the pups that grew inside him, both no bigger than the end of his thumb—they were _his_ , not Kylo Ren’s, not the Order’s, not his father’s. _His._

In the end there was an accident. A massive explosion that destroyed the transport General Hux had been traveling on. Large enough that no one had noticed the little pod jettisoning away moments before, shooting out into the void of the galaxy.

Towards another life.

Hux had chosen a random yet hospitable planet, far removed from the interests of either the Order or the Resistance and populated only by small, loosely connected villages. He’d disposed of his uniform as he left the pod to rot in the woods, clad in only humble clothing that itched on the slight swell of his belly.

The house he’d found himself in was hardly more than a shack abandoned by its previous owners, and he considered himself lucky to have running water and electricity.With exhaustion and hunger stamped into his thin bones he finally lied down to rest, the setting sun soaking the outside world in cold only barely defended by the mud-brick walls.

The first night Hux spent in the rickety bed was sleepless, sheets barely cover his knees, hands resting atop his middle where the only important things he had left in life rested.

* * *

Hux wakes up early one morning to a crick in his back and the twins warring with one another inside him. He grimaces as he pushes himself up in bed, barely able to sit up straight. Instead he leans back heavily on his arm, rubbing his face with a sigh.

He never thought he’d miss the utilitarian comfort of his bed aboard the _Finalizer_ , but the ancient mattress and creaky frame leaves him wanting. With his change in posture and increased likelihood to toss and turn during the night he really feels the lack of decent bedding. Not that there’s much to be done about it.

Hux’s fingers trail down from his face to rest against his chest, just above where his belly curves out. He feels one pup move on the righthand side, what might be a fist or shoulder digging into his insides. He winces, moving his palm to settle over the spot.

“ _Enough_ …” he grits out, only for the second pup to follow its sibling and jab him in the diaphragm. He furrows his brow together, a tight pant escaping his lips. _Stars_. It’s like they want to hurt him.

He moves his hand to where the thick grey shirt pulls over the swell of his belly, fabric stretched out and barely covering all of his skin. In a few weeks he doubts it will still fit him but he hasn’t much means for new clothes.

“Aren’t you both large enough?” Hux laments as he strokes over his turbulent stomach, hoping his pups will sense his pain and _stop_. He remembers when he first felt the twittering of life inside of him, how he’d dropped one of the few dishes he owned, hardly caring as his hands clamped to his middle in overwhelmed affection. He relished the feeling of his twins moving, each kick like a little victory—up until the point where he could no longer move around even the simple floorplan of the shack comfortably.

It seems inconceivable now that he ever used to be so slim, able to fit into the structured make of his uniform with little issue. Hux can’t imagine what it would look on him now. _Ridiculous_. Completely unbefitting of a general.

But—well, he’s not a general anymore, is he?

Hux rolls his aching neck, remembering when every day was commanded by numbers—financial reports, chrono readings, endless messages and information flashing before his eyes—but that’s all gone now, leaving him to measure his days only by the rise and fall of the sun and the steady growth of his belly.

It’s expanded so much in what feels like such little time. When he’d gone for the initial assessment back on the _Finalizer_ and discovered there were _two_ pups, he’d told himself he couldn’t possibly grow so terribly with his slender stature, but it only serves to make things more difficult now. With his current size Hux worries his frame might actually buckle with the weight and pressure at any time.

His skin, too, suffers with the nonstop growth of the pups. Somedays the red marks on his belly hurt so badly he feels the urge to scratch at them in hopes they might come right off and leave him in peace. Patches of his flesh at the most strained surfaced are dry to the touch, and Hux longs for a moisturizer to ease the discomfort but there’s nothing at all like that on this planet. Even if there were, Hux undoubtedly couldn’t afford to spend his scant credits on such luxuries. He hardly has enough left for food.

Which reminds him—he should probably attempt breakfast.

Hux finds it difficult to keep anything down at this size, his stomach and all other organs quashed and flattened by his pups. He wishes for a medical droid, to help correct his nutritional deficiencies but there’s no one and nothing else left to rely on anymore. So he slowly pushes himself up, ambling out into the kitchen only after he’s managed to center his balance.

Sunlight filters through the dusty windows, casting over the old cabinets and dingy table. The little water heater creaks into life when Hux jabs at it. He zones out a little, chipped bowl full of dry grains in hand, until the heater beeps and drifts steam up at him.

Hux stirs the watery porridge before sipping it carefully. It tastes lukewarm, but it’s better than scalding his tongue. Satisfied, he dares to walk over to the front door, checking through the peephole before unlatching the lock and stepping outside.

He leans against the doorframe, gazing down towards the grassy fields and dirt paths connecting the hovels confederated only loosely together. It’s not hard to stay isolated in such a simple place full of simple people, their own ambitions only the tilling of fields and feeding of mouths, so far from the lofty aspirations he once knew.

A breeze rustles upon the grass, lightly picking at the hem of his sweater as it moves into his house, creaking the rusted hinges. He pulls his top down where it’s ridden up before wrapping his arms about himself, neck prickling with sensation.

It’s strange to live on solid earth for such an extended period. Hux has kept few memories around from his childhood, some of which recall the landscape of Arkanis, the damp atmosphere in his lungs and the feel of it beneath his feet. Otherwise he’d only gone down onto planets for the sake of the Order and the occasional shore leave, never staying for longer than needed. He’s long preferred the stability found on spacecrafts, the constant hum of engines and the predictable nature of the daily cycles.

The smell of earth and organic air is odd too. It makes the simplest act of breathing a bit of a task for Hux, lungs distracted by particles of dust and moisture and other weighty things the filtration system aboard the _Finalizer_ had always drawn out. The rarefied air onboard his ship always had his heart beating a little quicker, shortness of breath reminding him there was never an end to his tasks as general. 

But he supposes it’s not all bad.

If Hux were a man of fantasy, he might even envision this as an idyllic life, far removed from the bloody juggle of power that plagues the rest of the galaxy. Tender winds pick at the trees, spreading purplish clouds above them in the sky. Land ripe for cultivating sits just outside the doors of his shack, awaiting one with the time and patience to coax it to life. Hux can easily imagine it full of fruits and herbs, necessitating a little fence and gate to keep out the local vermin—

—And a man, an _alpha_ walking up the humble dirt path to the home, robes shed of their heavy weight and hair longer, wavier than remembered. Even with dirt scuffing his shoes and posture relaxed he carries power and confidence in his stride, and when he looks up to Hux and smiles, lips tilted a little crooked, the twins inside of him shift, responding—

Hux freezes, immediately yanking himself out of such—such _delusional_ thoughts. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head with a hiss of frustration.

Exile and pregnancy have cast such a pall on his mind, weakening him to fancies beyond impossible. Hux drops his hand and scowls, cursing his wandering thoughts as he tries to forget the images they’ve drummed up. 

_No. Kylo Ren will never know what has become of him. Nor that he is a father._

He’s about to go inside when he notices _someone_ making their way up the path towards his hovel—but it’s not Ren, not even close. His hand rests on the doorknob but he stills, watching the skinny, khaki-colored humanoid ramble the way up to his door.

 _Ah. Her again_.

Even so far removed from the Order and its machinations Hux keeps a low profile, not willing to risk his life and that of his pups by flaunting about. He primarily stays in the house, only occasionally drifting out to purchase food with his few credits, yet he’s managed to draw the attention of his neighbor, due in no small part to his growing belly.

To Hux’s minor dismay she’s taking a liking to him, offering her help and assistance without him asking. It still puts him on edge whenever she appears, but her mind is simple, apparently concerned with little more than the health of his pups. 

“Armie!” She calls, both palms clasped around something small Hux can’t see. He nods belatedly, still growing used to _that_ name in stead of his title.

Hux doesn’t know her race, his knowledge of aliens limited thanks to the Order. He’s never bothered to ask, keeping himself properly caged and limiting their interactions. It’s welcome to talk to another on occasion, to prevent the ceaseless kicks of his pups from driving him mad, but Hux’s vise-grip on mistrust has weakened only a little.

“Myla. What do you have there?” His eyes fall on her cupped hands when she gets close enough. He wonders if its another one of those odd confections she likes to share, or another crude “vitality charm” meant to ensure the health of his pups.

Hux resists the urge to lift his eyebrow when she opens her hands to reveal a tiny clay pot nestled in her palms. Little red and green marks decorate the sides and lid, painted on over the heavy glaze. She holds it out to him, and after a moment’s hesitation he takes it.

“It will ease the pain in your belly. When I carried my own young, this worked well for me.” She gestures at his middle. “Do you need assistance?”

Hux shakes his head quickly, turning the little pot around in his hand. He wants no one else touching his stomach, no matter how many gifts they might imposed upon him.

“I…Thank you.” _Gratitude_ is something he’s not used to feeling, and part of him is unsure whether he’s just being polite, putting up a front before his old identity, or speaking truth. If it’s genuine, it’s only for the promised relief from his strained belly. As long as she’s not offering him total nonsense yet again.

Myla smiles blithely, skin around her large eyes crinkling, totally unaware of Hux’s inner thoughts. 

“Of course. Do not hesitate if you need anything else.”

There’s much that Hux _needs_ but there’s nothing more she can provide, so he tilts in chin a civil nod and she leaves, back down the dirt path that links their houses.

Hux locks the door behind him, shuffling towards the bedroom with the little pot cradled in hand. As he walks he the lid and sniffs the congealed, pitchy muck inside. It smells earthy with a hint of mint, not completely unpleasant but nothing something he particularly wants to slather all over himself. But with the scratchiness of his stretched skin growing unbearable, he’ll give anything a shot.

The bed gripes beneath him as he eases his way atop it, his ever-growing weight straining its rusty coils. Hux grunts as he peels the hem of his shirt up over his middle until it rumples at his chest.

He dips his fingers into the pot, coating them with the unctuous material. He spreads it over his stomach, paying special attention to the dry patches on its heavy underside and the ruddy marks near his hips. 

To his surprise, the remedy feels nice on his belly, leaving a menthol tingle on his skin and easing the pained stretch left by his pups growth. It even leaves him a bit relaxed, and he lies back in bed, keeping his shirt tucked up over his belly to let the treatment dry.

Hux uses the concoction every day from then on, just as the sky starts to darken outside his bedroom window. He mourns the moment his fingers scrape the bottom of the pot dry, loath to go back to his dry skin and unsightly red marks—but as if by magic, he opens his door the next morning to find a similar pot lying in the dirt.

* * *

Sometimes in moments of weakness, when Hux’s pregnant hormones betray him and he rubs his thighs too tightly together, he thinks of Ren.

On his side in his rickety bed and his nearly-too-small shirt he pushes his hand into his pants, groping underneath the impeding heft of his belly for his cock. It’s difficult and hard to achieve steady movement but sometimes Hux _needs_ it, with nothing else to soothe the aches in his body nor those in his heart.

He thinks of Ren’s hand wrapped around his cock instead, how marvelous it’d felt that first time when Hux realized he could easily hold it cradled in his palm. Omega cocks were slimmer, softer than those of the other types but Ren was also just that _enormous_ , every inch of him reeking of apex biology.

Only Ren could make Hux feel small now, with his belly grown so large that he’s more womb than man. Only Ren could drape over him, muscular arms surely long enough to wrap around even Hux’s swollen girth. Only Ren could kiss his neck, occasionally scraping it with teeth as he rubbed himself up against Hux’s rear, sparking warmth and need deep inside him.

He’d always felt in those scant moments they might have begun to grapple with each other’s humanity—but it’d always been over to soon, one or both either falling into sleep or dismissing themselves from the other’s quarters. Always an encounter of perpendicular lines, meeting once before continuing on down disparate paths. Forever only the knight and a general.

 _Now, not even that_.

Hux sets his teeth into his ratty pillow as he dares to stroke himself to finish, unwilling to let that _name_ fall from his lips ever again, not even when no one’s listening and no one cares, not even now that any relationship they ever had is as dead and disintegrated as _General Hux_ is. 

* * *

Sleep comes even harder as the planet’s nights grow longer, leaving Hux to toss and turn against the weight of his pregnancy. Sometimes he doesn’t even sleep at all and instead stares at the chips in the lime-washed walls, wondering how he’ll keep the pups warm and fed once he can no longer keep them in his womb. Sometimes he manages to doze, arms draped over his belly, savoring the moment of rest in between his physical discomfort and emotional wear.

Sometimes he has nightmares.

Hux’s screams still echo against the walls of the bedroom and hurt in his throat as he shoots up straight, eyes wide and heart thumping in his chest. He searches the darkness, as if expecting his nightmare to linger, perched in the corner or atop his headboard, waiting to kill him.

But the night keeps still, the only sound the chirrups of anonymous fauna outside his window. Hux pants, fear tingling down to his extremities as the memory of the nightmare hounds his vulnerable mind.

A shadowy figure had unfurled from the blackness and swooped down upon Hux in his own bedroom, eyes and claws glowing red and mouth opened like a black hole, sucking the life from him as he lied helpless in his bed. Leaving him hollow, robbed of his own fullness as the creature fed on him, grinned from bloodstained lips as he faded into death.

Hux cups his hand around his mouth, frustrated and terrified tears leaking down against the side of his palm, smothered until warm against his lips. He holds himself and his belly for a moment, struggling to calm after such horrific dream, before lifting his hand away from his face and wiping it off against the sheets.

 _Pull yourself together_. Hux clenches his fist, forcing his breathing back under control. _It was only a dream_. _Fool._

Suddenly restless and unwilling to dare try sleep again, Hux slides his legs off the bed and onto the creaky wooden floor. The muscles in his calves and back protest as he wobbles to his feet, using the old lamp at his beside for leverage and nearly knocking off the shade. He shambles out of his tiny bedroom, hand on the wall as he makes his way to the kitchen in search of a distraction.

His breaths grow short, even after only such a small distance. His belly strains to its limit, wringing his body of its last ounce of strength. He _knows_ he must be close—the pups sit so heavy on his pelvis lately and the tip of his belly sags slightly forward with the weight. Soreness dogs him, settled so deeply into his joints he’s not sure he’ll ever feel like his old self.

The yellowish light above the kitchen table provides only a little comfort, but before he can slide into the chair and try to relax there’s a soft knock at the door. Hux pauses, palm tight on his stomach, before a small voice twitters from the other side.

“Armie? Are you all right?”

 _Myla_. Hux hesitates, but in the tremors of the nightmare and his unstable emotional state he _yearns_ for another’s touch, if only to prove he’s not still trapped in the nightmare. He hobbles towards the door, pulling the rusty latch and letting it swing open.

She stands with concern on her softly lined face, a sachet clutched in her spindly fingers. Hux leans slightly against the doorframe, hand supporting his belly.

“What are you doing here?” He rasps, shivering from the night chill.

“It’s late. I brought you tea to help…” Myla waves her hand, losing her words. “I heard you cry out. I worried for the pups.”

“The pups are fine. Just…” Hux takes in a deep breath, before admitting, “…nightmares.”

She tuts and shakes her head.

“If I ever meet that mate of yours…”

Hux smiles secretively, trying to imagine what an encounter between the small, mousy alien and the Master of Ren. Perhaps she could give him a run for his money.

Hux might like to see her try.

Myla bustles to the worn water heater as he sinks into the chair, leaning back with a heavy sigh. It’s little better than the bed, but Hux tries to relax as the sound of bubbling water and smell of strange herbs and flowers fills the air.

“Here.” Myla deposits the warm cup into his hands, before taking the chair besides him.

Hux brings the cup up to his lips, breath rippling the filmy green surface. It smells little like his old, favored blend, but he takes a long sip regardless, letting its warmth spread down his throat and into his unsettled stomach.

Surprisingly enough it starts to help, calming the part of his mind still racing after the nightmare. He allows himself a soft smile, eyes drifting over to Myla.

Hux thinks maybe he’s mischaracterized her, that she’s more intuitive than first believed. Both the balm from before and the tea has helped to soothe a tension inside him, filling some of the needs left untended by his lack of mate.

“Thank you…I appreciate this.” He thinks he means it this time, which is _odd_ , but he’s too exhausted from the nightmare and pregnancy to care. Myla smiles, lacing her long fingers together atop the table.

“The gift of pups is best shared…especially if it eases the burden on the mother.”

Hux bites his lip, unsure of the intimacy of that title. He’s carried many in his lifetime but he can’t bring himself to embrace _that_ , not yet, not while he still doubts whether he’ll be able to care for the pups alone when they’re born.

Though perhaps he won’t be as alone as he previously thought.

Hux goes in for another sip of tea, only for his vision to suddenly fuzz at the edges. He nearly chokes on the liquid, surprised at the sudden vertigo. His fingers tremble, cup clacking back against the table as he fails to keep a grip on it. The tea spills into the cracked lines of the surface, spreading out.

“I…I don’t feel very good…” His first concern is _labor_ , but there’s no pain or pressure in his belly, only a throbbing in his head that increases with each second. Hux whimpers and holds his hand to the side of his head as he tries to get up. His nails dig into the back of his chair, scraping it against the floor as he stumbles.

“Armie?” Myla asks, her hands still folded neatly on the table. “Is something the matter?”

Hux opens his mouth and tries to respond to her, but his sweating fingers lose grip on the chair the moment his legs go numb. His vision blurs and tilts, consciousness lingering for only a moment longer before he passes out completely.

* * *

The first thing Hux feels is the cold.

The air is freezing around him, hard flat metal beneath his spine doing little to warm him up. He cringes, eyelids struggling to open as if they’d been iced over. When he finally pries them apart though he still sees nothing, darkness surrounding him on all sides as he turns his head.

At first, he thinks he’s stuck in another nightmare. Hux tries to move, only to find his legs and arms stuck to the cold surface beneath him. Rough, tight straps rub against his wrists and ankles as he jerks his limbs harder, and his tongue brushes against a ball of cloth stuffed into his mouth when he tries to scream.

Hux’s eyes flit about the room, desperate to find a clue as to where he is, _anything_ at all to latch onto and damper his rising panic, but it’s completely dark and smells heavily of dust and chemicals.

A blinding white light suddenly flashes on above him, and Hux moans in pain. He shuts his eyes tight, red imprint flaring on the inside of his lids. He forces them open after a moment, as soon as he becomes aware of another presence in the room, the sound of a door clicking shut.

He jerks his chin to his chest towards the noise, now looking down the length of his body.

The thick grey shirt Hux usually wears is gone. Instead his belly rises up before him, luminous and eggshell-white underneath the light. It trembles with his panicked breaths and the the occasional movement of his pups, which feels only briefly reassuring.

From beyond the end of the table he suddenly sees movement shifting into the darkness, the silhouette of a slight figure slowly materializing beneath the blinding light.

Hux’s stomach plummets. _No_.

Myla glares down at him, her green skin illuminated in a sickly shade. All warmth and kindness from her large eyes is now gone, replaced by hatred as she steps to the side of the table, homespun clothes hidden by a sterile-white frock. Hux stares in shock, body feeling even colder than it already did.

 _He’d been such a_ fool _, blindsided like this, how had he made the mistake to trust another again, to think anyone harmless, after everything—_

Fingers dig into his mouth, pushing the cloth towards the back of his throat before they hook and fish it out, dragging the material down to his chin. Hux recognizes the grey fabric from his shirt even as he coughs for air and glares at his captor.

“You,” he rasps, tongue dry and heavy in his mouth, “how…”

For a moment she doesn’t respond, feeding her slender hands through a pair of translucent blue gloves. When Myla does speak, her voice drones, empty of its old pleasant quality.

“Millaflower tea. Extracted and distilled, its active chemical agent can cause illness and death. But steep its petals only for a few minutes, and it makes for an effective sedative.“ Her lips flatten in contempt, teeth showing through her hiss. “Who would’ve thought it’d be so easy to trick and subdue the great _General Hux_.”

He flinches at the name, horror dawning upon him as she looms over him despite her stature, the expression on her petite face more chilling than all the enemies he’s face in his life.

“The audacity to believe you could hide in peace after what you’ve done. I was ready to kill you the moment I saw you. So many would love to be given such a chance but…a vision told me to wait. Told me what you were keeping inside you.”

“Vision?”

Myla curls her fingers. A sudden _creak_ pulls Hux’s attention to a small metal trail wheeling itself across the floor. His lips part in shock.

“You’re…” Hux watches as she halts the movement of the tray with an open palm.

“I know you’re familiar with the Force, general. I might not wield it with the power of _some_ , but it gives me enough insight, even into your wicked mind.”

She places her hand on Hux’s belly, thin fingers splayed over the stretched skin. He flinches, muscles in his torso tensing as he tries to pull away from her but with the straps holding him down there’s nowhere for him to move.

He’s let nobody touch his belly save for himself. Having _her_ hands there, coated in the sterile gloves, disturbs him. It crosses the last of his self-imposed boundaries, reminds him distantly of the senseless fantasies he allowed himself on those _truly_ difficult days. Her touch is a facsimile of that, a haunting imitation dripping with ill intent.

“They’re Kylo Ren’s children, aren’t they?“

Hux refuses to speak, but hearing that name again must register some kind of emotion in his face, because she smiles.

“I already knew that. It’s been a little trying, waiting for your offspring to reach viability. To keep myself from wrapping my hands around the slimy throat of the Starkiller himself.”

“What are you plotting?” He tries to demand, to grasp even the slightest bit of his old, intimidating self, but it fails with his slack lips and slow tongue.

“I won’t wait for you to go into labor. Interesting as it might be to watch you scream in agony, unassisted for hours, I won’t put them at risk.” She presses her fingers harder into his belly, sparking a reaction from one of the twins. Hux feel them nudge lightly against her fingers before pulling back, as if confused. It’s not the touch of their mother, nor the Force signature of their father. 

“Stop it. Don’t you touch them!” He feels ill with fear, her words unsettling those deep instincts he’s nurtured over the months. His urge to protect the lives inside of him, to keep them _his_.

Now with the light above him on and his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness, Hux can make out some of the details in the room around him—cupboards stuffed with papers and old data pads, a blaster hung up on a peg, and two large, box-shaped machines pushed into the corner. He can almost see through their thick transparisteel, to the coil of wires and tubes lying within. Despite his racing mind he starts to put the pieces together, understanding the sinister machinery and tools at Myla’s disposal.

“Why not?” Her fingers follow the retreating movement of his pups, stroking over one of his faded stretch marks. “They must grow used to me, if I’m to care for them in their first days of life.”

“Don’t you dare—I won’t let you take them from me!” Hux shouts, impressed by the strength his voice finally musters, and for a moment it even makes Myla pause, before her lower lip sticks out in scorn.

“You won’t let me? You have no power anymore, general. Stripped of your rank, your armada, your dignity.”

Hux grits his teeth together, seethes. _She’s wrong_. Hux might have given up all that but that doesn’t make him _weak_ , he’s endured so much for the sake of his pups, so much pain and turmoil and he won’t—she _can’t_ —

“It would be cruel to subject innocent children to a man like you.” Myla’s hand returns to rub mocking circles into Hux’s belly, touch stilling the movement inside. “Rest assured they’ll be cared for. Given to those who would want them. Perhaps even trained to fight against their parents’ atrocities.”

“Stop! You’ll hurt them, you pfassking maniac!” Hux cries, wrists jerking against his restraints as he instinctively tries to shield his belly from her. He’s so _exposed_ , laid out and pinned on the table like some kind of specimen. His heart hammers in his chest as he struggles, desperate to escape from this madwoman who wants to rip his children from his body.

Myla only regards him with deepening disdain, even as he rattles the table she’s strapped him to. She turns away from him and plucks a long, silvery object that tapers to a point. Hux raises his head, tendons bulging in his throat as he watches her push a small glass vial into the object before grabbing his hair.

Hux snarls, tries to bite her but before he can make contact she sticks the point into his throat. He croaks at the sudden pain as she twists her fingers tightly into his hair and depresses the contents of the vial into his vein. The injection burns, forcing Hux to clench his jaw against the pain.

Myla drops his head back against the table when she pulls away the syringe, letting it smack with a metallic _bang._ Hux’s skull smarts, but as he tries to lift it again he falters, muscles in his neck suddenly weak and refusing to obey his commands.

He still feels the cold on his skin and his racing pulse but he can no longer move, his limbs completely weighed down and useless as if someone had switched off all nerves below the neck.

His heart hammers into his ribs, panic rising again to consume him. Reedy, sobbing breaths escape his lips, distraught at his own helplessness, at the _loss_ he can do nothing to prevent.

“Please…please don’t…take them…” Hux croaks, tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision. “There’s nothing left…”

“Would you have ever listened to the pleas of your enemies, general? Would you have ever spared them from a violent end if you had the choice?” Myla hisses, her face hovering close to his. “At the very least, something _good_ will come of yours.”

She tugs the dirtied cloth back up to his lips, ignoring his sobs as she stuffs it into his mouth and pulls it tighter about his head. She grabs his face, nails digging in tightly against his shallow cheeks. 

“Much as the galaxy deserves to hear your screams of pain, I can’t let it distract me from my delicate work.”

Her merciless black eyes sweep away from his helpless body as she steps back and selects a tool from the tray. It glints in the bluish light overhead, drawing Hux’s eyes to the little curved blade at the end. He sobs behind the gag, frightened tears trailing down his cheeks towards the operating table.

“There’s no need for anesthesia. It’s not likely you’re going to ever set foot outside of this room again.”

A cloth soaked in something cool wipes against the underside of his belly as the air fills with the scent of antiseptic. It’s not for his sake, Hux understands—he’s merely a vessel of meat and bone, usefulness outlived now that his children can survive outside the womb.

Maybe Myla’s right, filthy murderous scum that she is. Maybe Hux was never meant to raise the lives growing inside of him. Never meant to protect them, only meant to be _harvested_ like livestock, his only value to the world taken, leaving him a bloodied husk in a dark room on a dingy, insignificant planet.

_He’d been foolish to think he could ever call anything his own without someone taking it from him._

The thin edge of the blade comes to rest against the skin little below Hux’s navel, Myla’s other hand feeling for the pups.

“Go to your death at ease, General. Knowing your children will grow up to be greater than you ever were.”

The scalpel pushes into his skin, drawing a delicate thread of blood down his belly. Hux shuts his eyes tight, scream soaking into the gag as he’s sliced open.

And his mind, in a last act of desperation—for himself, for his _children_ —calls out for Ren.

A sudden _crash_ splinters the silence, reverberating through the walls of the shack. Hux’s eyes snap open, heart thumping in tandem with the stomp of footsteps growing louder and louder. Myla jerks up, pulling the scalpel away from Hux’s flesh and whirling to face away from him.

The door against the opposite wall suddenly blows off its hinges and slams against the floor. A silhouette cuts through the dim interior lights outside the room, wild and broad and teeming with strength, fury, _want_ —

Hux feels it must be a hallucination. It’s too coincidental to be anything but his mind providing comfort in these last moments, euthanizing him with one last grasp at happiness before Myla carves into his insides and hollows him out.

But the scent that surges into the room, that overwhelms the stench of blood and dust and antiseptic is undeniably _real_ , flooding into Hux’s senses and forcing a relieved keen out of him as Kylo Ren descends upon his captor, hand outstretched.

Her minor sensitivity to the Force falls apart in front of the alpha, who snaps her arm into a nightmarish angle until she screams, dropping the scalpel from contorted fingers. Her other hand raises, in either an attack or in attempt to defend herself, but Ren heaves her small body effortlessly up off the floor and slams her into the opposite wall, knocking into the incubators and sending them crashing to the floor.

Though Ren ends the fight in moments he still breathes heavily, mask removed and hair flurried about his face like an untamed beast. Hux stares as the alpha straightens up and turns towards him, their eyes meeting for the first time in months.

“Hux…” Ren croaks, sweeping over to the operating table. His boots thunk against the floor, knocking aside the tray and sending the rest of the cruel metal tools scattering to the floor. Hux flinches at the noise, shuddery and on edge, still shaking off his disbelief.

Ren leans over him, cape pooling over his shoulder and half shielding Hux from the surgical light. His face looks paler than Hux remembers, skin bruised with distress beneath the eyes and a new scar, feathered like lightning, running along his jaw.

“You’re…you…”

Ren’s expression twitches, as if holding back a storm of emotion. Hux has no such strength left, not even to feel shame as the alpha looks over his bare body and the tear tracks on his puffy cheeks.

It must truly be a sight for Ren to behold—his last image of Hux as a strict, poised general shattered by the trembling, _pregnant_ omega pinned to table beneath him.

The leather straps keeping Hux’s wrists and ankles bound snap easily with a twist of Ren’s hand, but even with his restraints removed he can’t lift them even the scant distance to shield his belly from the alpha’s eyes, muscles still shaking off the drug. It doesn’t matter because Ren grabs Hux’s hand instead and holds it tight, thin fingers cradled in the breadth of his palm.

Neither of them say anything for a long moment, though Ren tries—mouth moving in a mumble before he cuts himself short. Hux knows the question that must linger on his lips, understands Ren’s hesitation to confront it.

Finally the alpha sighs and lets his eyes fall half-closed. His other hand rises, settling its gloved palm atop Hux’s belly.

“Is this why you left me?” Ren whispers, fingers spreading out over the omega’s pale skin. “Or has someone—“

“No, no. They’re yours,” Hux croaks, finding the strength to squeeze his hand back. “ _Stars_ …Ren, they’re yours.”

The alpha’s expression softens then, beneath the scraggly hair hanging over his face, grown longer in Hux’s absence. He would’ve never believe Ren could look so tender, months ago when he’d left the _Finalizer_ , fearing the alpha’s reaction to his pregnancy.

In his isolation Hux never had considered Ren’s pain, assuming his death would be met with nonchalance or maybe even humor. He always assumed the alpha never cared beyond the parameters of sex, using Hux just as Hux believed he used him. 

Guilt leaches into the omega’s heart despite himself, and as the sensation returns to his nerves he lifts his other hand to grip onto Ren’s cape.

“I know you believed me dead, I—“

“I _never_ believed _,_ ” Ren asserts as he presses their foreheads together, eyes still tracked on Hux’s face like he can’t look away. “You would never let yourself get killed like that. Purposeless.”

“Did…did you ever sense that I…”

“No, _no_ , I didn’t…” Ren’s voice edges into distress, suddenly inhaling heavy like it hurts him. “I didn’t, I…if I were a moment too late, if I’d be led astray, you would’ve—“

“ _Stop_ ,” Hux pleads, no longer wants to think about it, the false life he lived without Ren, how it’d all nearly come to a gruesome end. “You weren’t. I didn’t. I— _we’re_ all right.”

As if sensing their father’s presence, the twins finally start to move comfortably in Hux’s belly. Ren inhales sharply, eyes falling to where they push out against his palm. Hux can practically hear his heart hammering as Ren’s eyes fall half-closed, hand rubbing softly against the omega’s stomach. The pups joyously squirm against their father touch, and even though Hux lies half naked, bleeding, and drugged, for the first time since discovering the pregnancy he feels completed. 

After awhile Ren moves his hand from Hux’s belly, deftly undoing his cape to place it about the omega’s shoulders. Hux nestles his nose in the dark folds, inhaling his alpha’s musky scent as Ren lifts him into his arms, supporting him as he recovers from the ordeal. 

Once aboard Ren’s ship Hux watches the planet beneath them shrink and slowly vanish as they forge back into the depths of space. Recirculated air kisses his lips as he strokes his stomach beneath the cloak, feeling the movement of his pups, now gentled in their father’s presence.

Hux doesn’t know if Ren’s traveling back to the _Finalizer_ or somewhere else entirely, but for once he trusts his fate in the hands of another and sits back, secure in the belief he’s heading towards a life properly his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys like this! Again I wasn't sure about posting it, so...I'm not sure what you'll think!
> 
> I don't know when next I'll have new fic, I'm hitting a bit of a wall lately. But maybe inspiration will strike for more of these hurt prompts. 
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


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